by Alyc Helms
Lung Tian’s lips thinned; the muscles in his forearms bunched and unbunched, but there was no way he could gracefully continue when I had yielded. He nodded and stalked out of the circle. “The next contest will take place in the pagoda.”
I struggled to rise, and I found myself surrounded by friendly hands offering their help. Jian Huo lifted me to my feet. His jaw clenched; the family resemblance to Lung Tian was strong.
“This needs to end. Song Yulan was right. You are in no condition to be fighting him. You are in no condition for any of these contests.”
If I had been considering telling any of them that I was in labor, Jian Huo’s words stopped me. He was two seconds away from ending the contest and throwing all of his siblings out. I couldn’t let that happen.
I squeezed his hand. “It’s fine, Jian Huo. The worst part is over. I doubt that the tests of wit or honor are going to involve a lot of physical exertion.” Aside from the physical exertion of labor, but I kept that thought to myself.
I took Jian Huo’s silence as concession.
He led me to the pagoda, where, as “Team Missy” had successfully predicted, Lung Tian had set up a game of wei-qi. I couldn’t beat him. In all my time here I’d never come close to beating Jian Huo, and he was the bookish sibling. Lung Tian was the tactician. The best I could hope for was to acquit myself competently. As I took my seat at the table, Lung Tian threw the wrench.
“A person of true wit does not fill the air with incessant chatter. Therefore, you will remain silent during our game.”
It was a not-so-complimentary testament to how quickly our guests had come to know me that Lung Tian’s caveat caused everyone to go quiet.
In the pin-dropping silence, Si Wei’s whisper was all the more audible: “She’s doomed.”
I glared at the fox-maiden, who spared me an apologetic grimace before going back to looking worried. Lips deliberately pursed, I nodded at Lung Tian, and we began to play.
The game lasted for over an hour, during which my contractions grew worse. I timed them by our moves, or rather my moves, since my opponent never paused to think more than a few moments before making his own. I assume that he intended for the hardest part of the game to be my required silence, but given that my contractions came more often and more painfully, it was easier for me than anyone would have guessed. The most difficult thing was controlling my breathing so that I didn’t look like I was in unbelievable agony.
He trounced me. By the end, however, he was once again seething in fury. I had managed to remain silent during the entire game despite his many comments and taunts, most of which I was too preoccupied to hear. With a final decisive move he won the game, but he didn’t look happy about it. He just glared at me and gestured for the game to be removed.
“Once again you have lost.”
I glanced at the servants removing the game, not speaking until they were out of sight. “I have lost the game. Whether I have lost the contest is a different matter to be determined, and one that I would imagine cannot be decided until all the challenges are met.”
His jaw worked, but he nodded his assent to this and forged ahead. “The third challenge will be one of honor. I will tell a tale of my most honorable moment.”
And he commenced his tale. I listened closely, unsure what the challenge was supposed to be. This was not like anything “Team Missy” had predicted. Maybe I was supposed to catch on to some small detail in his tale and explain how the moment was honorable? He laid the tale out in bare bones: fact, fact, fact. I found myself several times editing his style, figuring out ways that I would tell it better, for greater impact.
By the time his tale marched to an end, even I was impressed. The story made me realize that Lung Tian wasn’t a bad guy, just a bit old-fashioned and prejudiced. I could see things from his point of view. He was just looking out for his stupid younger brother, who had always exhibited more honor and pigheadedness than sense, especially when it came to his choice in lovers. Lung Tian’s methods didn’t endear him to me, but at least I could respect him for that familial love. Maybe it was just the labor pains and the hormones doing the wacky in my system, but by the end of the story, I was blinking back tears and my throat was tight, not because of anything that Lung Tian had done in the story, but because of what he was doing now. The light murmur of approval from the crowd pulled me back from becoming completely maudlin. Lung Tian had finished his tale.
“Now it is your turn.”
My turn? Oh, crap. I was supposed to tell a tale of my most honorable moment? After I’d just listened to an epic saga and had been getting all weepy over what a great guy Lung Tian was? What kind of life experience could I draw from? I was in my early twenties, and my most interesting years had been spent in an isolated valley in Western China. As far as I was concerned, most of the people here had been witness to my most honorable moment when I chucked Lung Di down the hill, and my second most honorable moment involved a lot of heavy petting and me overcoming my libido. That didn’t strike me as appropriate to the spirit of the challenge.
This was the trap, of course. Any story I told would make me look silly and petty and boastful. I glared at Lung Tian, hating and loving him at the same moment. Stupid dragons and their stupid family loyalty.
Then it hit me like a contraction, which, appropriately enough, was also hitting me in that moment. Taking a few deep breaths to let the spasm pass and collect myself, I launched into a tale. Not mine. His. I retold Lung Tian’s tale as I had started to do in my mind. I made the epic more epic, the sweeping more sweeping. The maidens were more beautiful, the deeds braver. I took the swelling of esteem and admiration that I’d just felt for Lung Tian, and I let it flavor my entire tale. I told the story the way I would tell it to my kids when I wanted them to know just how badass and awesome their uncle was.
When I ended there were more murmurs of approval and a slight smattering of applause. Even some of the older dragons looked impressed, and for the first time I saw an expression I could read on Lung Wang’s face. She regarded me thoughtfully.
“You but repeat the tale that I have told. How is this a story of your own honor?” Lung Tian’s words were combative, but absent of his usual vitriol.
I smiled at the crotchety but increasingly lovable old fart. “There are many things that are honorable in the doing, but there are some things, some individuals, some acts so noble that they ennoble the world around them by their very presence. Hearing your tale has reminded me that to be in your presence is to know greater honor than any act of valor of my own could bring me. Whatever the differences that lie between us, and whatever may come, I am grateful to you for granting me such a gift.”
The room had fallen silent, but many spirits nodded in agreement, including the other Guardians and most of Jian Huo’s siblings. Only Lung Pan looked sour, as if she had been forced to swallow something that disgusted her. Suck on it, kiddo. I’d work on figuring out what was lovable about her at some later date.
Lung Tian regarded me for some time, and the sweat that broke out on my brow was only partially due to the increasing pain of my contractions.
“You have failed all three of the contests.”
I nodded.
“You have demonstrated that you have neither the grace, nor the wit, nor the honor to match a dragon.”
I nodded again. Lung Tian stood, and the look on his face told me it was all over. Lung Pan must have guessed the same because she was beaming in triumph.
“This, then, is my judgment–”
“A moment, brother,” said Lung Fu Cang. She motioned to where Lung Wang and Lung Jiao conferred. Lung Jiao stepped forward and placed a hand on Lung Tian’s arm.
“Such a judgment as you must make, brother, is a grave one and carries with it great finality. Surely it would be wise to deliberate carefully before making it. The shadows grow long and night is falling. The Zi Gong Hu is ending, and we must all make our farewells. When we return to Heaven, you will have the time and pea
ce that you need to fairly consider the matter. It need not be decided just now.”
Lung Tian looked as though he wanted to argue with Lung Jiao, but apparently decided against doing so in public. “What about the blessings?”
“Lung Pan will keep her blessing until the matter is resolved, and it might be prudent for you to do so as well, given that you are arbiter in this matter. As for any others who wish to offer their blessings, there is nothing in the matter that keeps them from doing so.” Lung Jiao approached me and bowed low. “If I may, Lung Xin Niang?”
I nodded, dumbfounded. Jian Huo came to stand behind me as the most powerful of his siblings placed his hands on my belly and murmured ancient words in a language I didn’t know. One by one the other dragons came forward, except for Lung Pan and Lung Tian. Shui Yin looked both proud and smug, while Lung Shen looked thoughtful, perhaps contemplating her own human lover. The most amusing moment was when Lung Fu Cang came forward. While her hands were on me, another contraction rippled across my belly. The flash of surprise across her features told me that she had felt it as well. On the pretext of whispering her blessing, she leaned in close, lips a breath away from my ear.
“How long?” she whispered.
“Since I went to change clothes this morning.” She pulled back an inch, and one of her delicate brows arched in surprise.
“Since before the… and Jian Huo let you–”
“He doesn’t know.”
The other brow raised to join the first. “Then I will ensure that we vacate in all haste.” She smiled and patted my belly, quickly finishing her blessing.
I smiled back. “Thanks.” Let everyone else think it was the blessing I was thanking her for.
Lung Wang came forward. Looking on her still unnerved me; she was too ancient, too alien, too powerful. I could only imagine how minor my entire existence must be to her. And yet she placed aged hands on my belly, and in a low, melodious voice spoke the ancient blessing. Then she nodded, and within moments all of Jian Huo’s siblings except Shui Yin were gone. The guardians and the other spirits followed, and I was left on my cushions, surrounded by a flabbergasted Team Missy.
“You did it. I can’t believe you did it.” Shui Yin’s stunned statement wasn’t the most inspired congratulation. I considered making his appointment to Team Missy provisional.
“I can,” Jian Huo said with pride, though I thought this was a bit of revisionist history on his part. Si Wei just smiled and kept her mouth shut.
“Yup, I did it. Hoodey-hoo and woopdi-dee for me.” Now that I could afford to be, I realized how exhausted I was. I also realized that another contraction was on its way, and I gave in to the luxury of venting my pain through my vocal cords. My three companions looked at me as if I’d transformed into some alien creature. Given the noises I was making, perhaps there was some justification for this.
“Is it time?” Jian Huo asked. “Are your pains starting?”
“Starting?” I cracked an eye, responding between hee-hee-hee, hoo-hoo-hoo’s. “I’ve been in labor since… early this morning you… half-witted warthog!”
Shui Yin and Si Wei’s mouths dropped in shock, though I wasn’t sure whether it was from my revelation or the name-calling. Jian Huo just gave an “ah” of comprehension and summoned serving spirits to take me to my bed.
“Now I understand,” he said, his mouth twisted in a grin of sardonic affection. “I’ll admit that I’d wondered what power on this earth could keep you silent for an entire game of wei-qi.”
NINE
What Happens in China
Now
The light of the Kestrel’s explosion burned out my vision, and I came down harder than I should have, my knee screaming at the impact, though I bit down on any scream of my own. I tried to roll with my landing and got tangled up in my restraints for my efforts.
The more I struggled, the more I tangled myself up, until I recalled the knife in my satchel. It might look dull, but that blade had cut through worse things than a few nylon straps. I pulled it out and started sawing.
The flames of the burning Kestrel lit up the rolling plain in relief, coloring it orange and doing a fair bit to make it look like a Boschian Hell. It would get worse. The light was a clarion call to every nasty within eyeshot.
But also our way out. If I could get free. If I could find the others.
I cut through the main restraint and wiggled free of the straps. Without my weight for drag, the parachute billowed and rolled away like some terrestrial cephalopod. What would the Conclave make of that? My laugh turned into a cough as the tang of smoke reached me. Better question might be how long they would torture the parachute for information before realizing it wasn’t alive.
Thoughts of the Conclave got me moving again. A disturbance like this would draw their notice. Worse than any stray, curious denizens drawn to the crash, would be the knights of the Conclave. I had to make my escape before they arrived. Once they had a scent, they were like bloodhounds, chasing a body even once it had returned to the light world.
“Tom? Mr Tsung?” The ever-present background chittering lulled to a hush before returning louder than before in a wave of sound like a cicada invasion. Bad idea to risk calling out, but what choice did I have? The flickering light and shadows set every hill on the plain to dancing like it was a mountain. I climbed one of those hills and spied a bladdered man-o-war struggling its twisted way along the dell below. I limped down the rise, hoping for the best, but there were no men being dragged along with the parachute. Just straps and flame-orange silk.
Hell.
I followed the tracks left by the chute, but the winds across the shadow plain blew the dust into whirling devils before I could follow far.
I climbed up another rise. The heat from the burning wreckage washed over me. Standing in the full light of the blaze, I called again. “Tom? Mr Tsung?”
The chittering quieted again. This time, it stayed quiet. And then came the sound of hoof beats.
I flattened to the ground. Double hell. Where had they gone? The wreckage was too hot to check, and the tangled chute meant Tsung at least had landed free. Perhaps he’d used the light from the flaming Kestrel to pull himself and Skyrocket back to the safety of the real world?
Lord knew there was nowhere safe in the Shadow Realms. Least of all lying prone on a rise in the light of burning wreckage with a troupe of Conclave knights bearing down to investigate.
Damn the risk. I had to make sure Tsung and Tom weren’t nearby. I pushed up to a squat and half-ran, half-slid down the hill, closer to the light of the wreckage where the dark-sighted knights would be less likely to spot me. I glanced over my shoulder. Everything was shadow and flame. The brightness burned nuance away. The thunder of hoof beats crescendoed as a cloud of living smoke poured out from a valley between two hillocks.
I ducked around the side of the wreckage – mostly intact, though smaller chunks of burning and scorched debris scattered from the point of impact. Still no sign of Tom or David Tsung, neither in the Kestrel or on the plain.
The knights would be circling around, checking the area. Tsung must have gotten out, and taken Tom with him.
Did I really trust David Tsung that much to do the right thing?
More thunder of hooves. I had no choice but to trust. I couldn’t stay here. If the knights spotted me, there’d be no escaping even to the light world. I’d do nobody any good if I got taken.
I clung to that thought as I grabbed onto the light cast by the flames and propelled myself out of the Shadow Realms.
I came across atop a slanted rooftop. It took a bit of scrambling to keep myself from sliding down the slope and tumbling to the street below. I hooked my arm around a pipe vent, braced my foot against an eave, and looked out across a rolling sea of slate-tile rooftops to the city beyond.
Shanghai.
It wasn’t a postcard view of the city. I’d come across too far south for that – somewhere in the old Nanhui District, I’d guess. The city stre
tched on and on, identical rooftops broken by green spaces and the odd squat tower. The yellow haze of smog hung thick, the late afternoon sun setting it to glow in flame hues. An unsettling echo of the wreckage I’d just left behind, along with my companions.
A shadow hand emerged from the eave, groping towards the golden afternoon glow and my leg. With a bright enough light source on their side, the knights of the Conclave could reach across and drag things back across the veil. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to find someplace well-lit and away from the shadows, or they’d follow me through the entire city.
I crawled away from the searching hand, over to the other side of the rooftop where the setting sun shone against the face of the building. Too high up to climb down. I peered over the edge and found an open window. Dropped down and swung into the apartment, nearly landing on an old man who gaped at me with toothless surprise.
“So sorry for the intrusion,” I said in Mandarin, hoping he understood it in addition to whatever dialect he spoke. “Would you mind if I called a cab?”
Still gaping, he pointed at the phone, an old rotary dialer.
“Thank you.” I retrieved my hat from my satchel and settled it firmly on my head, pulling forth as much shadow as I dared this close to the searching knights. First, get my bearings, then I could deal with finding Tom and David Tsung and rescuing China. But I’d had enough of this running around without a clue as to what I was doing. I struggled out of my jumpsuit, pulled on my coat, and slid the knife into my breast pocket. It was time to call on some old friends.
* * *
I’d say this for China: they were handling their enforced quarantine with unsettling efficiency. If the United States were faced with such a crisis, there’d be anger, paranoia, rioting in the streets, twenty-four hour news cycles urging the panic to soaring heights. Come to think of it, wasn’t that the United States I had just left?
